To Shanshu?
by Ashley A
Summary: Post shanshu. Immediately post, actually? What's an ex vampire with a soul to do?


To Shanshu?

Timeline:  Post shanshu of course.  Actually a few minutes post.

L. A. 2015.  Slightly AU.  Just go with it!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.  Don't sue.  All lines cribbed from various Buffy/Angel episodes belong to their respective writers.  Thanks for the inspiration, guys. 

This story is for all the B/A shippers out there, thanks so much for the warm welcome to the club.  Long may you reign!

Keep the ship alive!

Feedback:  More please.

Enjoy.

            A blinding flash makes Angel open his eyes.  First the left, the the right.  Oh, he's really sorry he did.  Pain lances through his skull like a piledriver.  Then the flash of light again.

            "Do it again.  I think he's coming 'round," he hears a female voice say, then, "Okay, Fred, okay."  The light flickers back and forth now, and he realizes it's a small torch hanging from the grip of his bald friend…uh, Gunn?  Yeah, that's it.

            "Ugh," is about all he can muster at this juncture.  The cold floor penetrates his skin, and he involuntarily shivers.  Rolls over on his side.

            "Help him, Charles!  He can't get up by himself."  Two pairs of hands are under his shoulders, and slowly he is lifted into a sitting position.

            "Uh, thanks, I think," he tells them, shaking his head to clear it.  He wobbles to his feet, suddenly very undsturdy.

            He also notices his mouth is very dry, and his heartbeat is still jackhammering away…wait a minute.  HEARTBEAT???

            "Guys.  What the hell is going on?" Angel gets out, before hitting the floor again.

A few days later.

            He sits in the hospital bed, just listening to the normal sounds of day around him.   Monitors beeping, compressors, well, compressing, phones ringing, people laughing and talking.  He still can't take it all in.  _I'm alive.  I'm human.  I guess Wes was right about that prophecy.  All it took was some fighting, some sacrificing, and well, almost losing my head, but that's not so bad, right?_

He places his hand over his chest, relishing the feel of thump thump, thump thump.  Never thought he'd ever feel it again.  All his friends, all his allies, all the things he sacrificed to be here.  To get this reward.  The End of Days has passed.  They had won.  Unbelieveable.

            _I wish you were here to see this, Cordy.  I really do._

            She never had come out of her coma.  Stared into nothing for 6 years before they had finally made the decision to take her off life support.  Even now Angel can barely bring himself to think of her.  Or of his lost son.  He knows she would have wanted them to do it.  Wouldn't have wanted them to let her waste away into nothingness.   He still tells himself every day that she's where she was meant to be, ever since that aborted summer meeting on the beach, that summer he spent going quietely mad under the water.  The summer she spent in the higher planes, and had never really returned from. 

            He sighs gently, and closes his eyes, breathing deeply the smell of freshly cut grass from outside his window.  He knows it's time for him to check out; there's nothing physically wrong with him.  He's even gotten to the point of getting dressed.  Same old black pants, same old black button down shirt over a "wife beater" as Gunn so charming calls them.  New shoes, though.  He had lost his somehow in the last battle.

            L.A. was still standing.  The world was still standing.  Despite the hordes of demons and denizens of Hell who had poured through the portal that Wolfram and Hart's sorcerers had opened over downtown L.A., Angel and his rag tag gang had managed to hold them back, and actually close the portal, sucking W & H with it.  Angel and his gang, and some old friends.  Willow.  And Giles.  He hadn't seen the two of them for so long.  Yet they were more than ready to answer his call when he needed them.

            The witch had grown in power way beyond her 35 years.  Red hair now waist length, she could conjure anything at the twitch of her fingers.  And the former watcher, well, Angel hadn't expected him to look as old as he did.  Weathered face, craggy and sunken now, the years after the Hellmouth had closed not treating him kindly.  

            As if she had heard his thoughts, Willow enters Angel's room, smiling.  "How we doing today?  Ready to start your new life?  Or maybe to think about starting it?" she asks him.  He grins in response, glad to see her.  _She reminds me so much of the old days, and the old absent friends….the ones I won't think about just yet._

"Hey, Will.  Maybe thinking about it.  Although I can't seem to haul my ass off this bed just yet.  Maybe it's the utter lack of bursting into flames, but I'm still a little…weirded out by the whole walking in the sun thing," he tells her, still squinting toward the window.  God!  The sun.  How can normal humans go blithely about their daily routine and not worship it every minute?  He just doesn't get it.

            She plops down next him, folding her legs up under her.  Touches his shoulder.  "It's expected.  A little shell shock not surprising.  But everyone's waiting for you, Angel.  They're all out front, ready to take you home.  I can tell them you'll be a while, if you'd like…" she trails off, concerned.

            "No.  Everything's okay.   I need…a few minutes.  I'll be right there, I promise," he squeezes her hand, and she gets up off the bed.  "I'll see you out front," she guarantees, and walks out the door.  He is alone again, and suddenly very nervous.

            _It's a good thing I didn't fantasize about you becoming human only like, ten zillion times.  Otherwise today would have been a real let down._

Words he hasn't even thought of in almost twelve or so years suddenly and aggressively assault his conciousness.  Oh boy.  What was he going to tell her?  WAS he going to tell her?

            _Of course I'll tell her.  In a few days.  Once I've gotten my sea legs, so to speak.  Besides, she could be anywhere now.  In California, in Ohio, in London…_

He really has lost track of her.  He hadn't meant to, it just sort of happened.  After their last meeting, the night before the final battle of Sunnydale, he hadn't been sure if she really had wanted to keep in touch with him.

            And that whole "cookie dough" speech.  He has thought about it several times over the years, totally understanding her point, but not so understanding about her final comments and lack of follow through.

            _Angel…sometimes I do think that far ahead._

_            Sometimes is something._

_            It'd be years in coming, if ever._

_            I ain't getting any older, _he had jokingly replied, before disappearing into the dark as he was so fond of doing.  He had known she was going through a lot that year, a lot of turmoil, and heartbreak.  But wasn't that always the best time for him to help?  He had loved her from the moment he layed eyes on her.  And no matter what relationship crises they had gone through, she had always been able to turn to him for comfort, had always trusted him to be the beacon in her darkest hour.

            When she had sent him away that night, he knew she had been right to do it.  But in his secret heart, he had been more than a little jealous.  

            Spike had been her champion.  Spike had died at her side.  He had saved Sunnydale, maybe the world, from the First, and in so doing, had immortalized himself in Buffy's mind as a true Hero.  

            Hearing this, Angel had assured himself that the blonde vampire had not taken his destiny; after all, he was _the _vampire with a soul.  Wasn't he?  

            Angel shakes his head, almost a little violently.  _Spike deserved whatever reward he got.  He did sacrifice himself for her.  And for the world.  Isn't seemly for a so called 'hero' to dismiss his memory for such a petty reason._

Obviously Angel had received his reward, too.  Oh, what a reward.  Skin warm, breath blowing gently out his nose, heart beating.  Any various aches and pains he's feeling now are part of the pleasure of being mortal again.  And speaking of mortals…

            It's time for him to leave the hospital.  Leave the sanctuary of being of the world, but not being in it.  

            He huffs himself to his feet, and after taking one last look around, heads to the waiting room and his waiting family.

Two weeks later.

            Through his throbbing headache, all Angel can hear is the gentle murmer of voices in the hall, and the far off whistle of a teakettle.  Had being sick when he was young ever been this bad?  He feels as though his sinus cavity has been stuffed with very large pieces of old toast.  

            A quiet knock sounds on the door.  Snuffling loudly, he yells, "come in!" with as much strength as he can muster with a 102* fever.

            Fred enters the room, holding a tray with a tea kettle and cup balanced precariously around many bottles of pills and liquid cough suppresant.  Angel grimaces at the thought of their tastes.  Bleh.  He pulls a face, and Fred notices, laughing at him.

            "Little baby, huh?  Come on, Angel, you have to take it.  Besides, you wouldn't want the rest of us to get it, would you?"  She hands what looks like a very large cup of green syrupy stuff to him, and the light catches her wedding ring, glinting in his eyes.

            He sets the medicine down untouched, and picks up her hand.  "That's beautiful, Fred.  I haven't seen you wear it yet," he sniffs, sounding like he's trying to talk through a pillow.  She blushes slightly, and joins him in looking at it.

            "I still can't believe it.  After all we've been through.  We finally get to be together.  Charles did good when he picked this out," she jokes, trying to lighten the moment.  

            "You deserve it," he tells her, genuinely happy for both his friends.  They did belong together.  _Opposites really do attract sometimes.  _

She removes his hand, and picks up the foul liquid again.  "Quit trying to distract me, buddy.  Take this or else," she threatens, and sighing, he obliges.  Bleah!  He shivers as he downs the nasty stuff.  It hits him like a freight train, and suddenly he's ready to sleep for a week.

            Noticing his drooping eyes, Fred gets up and sets the tea on his nightstand.  "Here's some chamomile when you feel like it, Angel.  This pot will keep it hot for ages.  I can't believe you actually still have it.  It's an antique, really.  Well, have a good nap," she finishes, and closes the door softly behind her.

            Angel groggily looks over at the tea kettle Fred was referring to.  Small and blue, with a large dent on one side, as if someone had thrown it against the wall.  _Or knocked it to the floor in a fit of passion._

He's awake now.  Remembers the last time he had even payed attention to that kettle.

            _So how does the mature plan go?  You call me, I call you, what?_

_            We stay in touch.  Just not…_

_            Literally.  Cute.  Okay, I better…_

_            Right.  Remove the temptation. _

_            So we'll talk soon._

She had put her hand over his then, and the instant zip of electricity they always felt for each other had overwhelmed them both.  Drawn together, their mouths had met in a kiss the likes of which neither of them had ever experienced.  They had almost taken his kitchen apart in their haste to be together.  Had graced his small table in the throws of their passion.

            In his mind the sound of the iron kettle hitting the floor echoes like a gunshot.

He knows that she'll never remember this moment.  But he always will.  Even now that always is a lot shorter than it once was.  

            He lays down, feeling the twinging and pulling of each and every muscle in his back.  What to do? 

            _So the question is…what do you want?_

Doyle had said it.  Leave it to Doyle to voice what Angel had only dared to hope.  And he had wanted only her.  Forever.  But being a champion comes with a price.  He knew that they hadn't really belonged to each other.  But damn, why did it have to be so hard to be so righteous?  He really hated it, hated that he had to give up love again, for the 'good of the world.'  And then to lose Doyle too, so soon after losing Buffy.  He honestly hadn't thought he would make it through those few weeks.  The only reason he had kept up a brave face was for Cordy…and for Wesley, who had just shown up like a lost puppy, needing direction.  And, boy, had he gotten direction.

            Not necessarily the best kind.

            Angel's thoughts turn again to Buffy, and what to do now.  His cold-fogged brain full of feelings and memories he really hadn't wanted to dredge up, he decides for now, sleep is best.  And due to the immense amount of NyQuil in his newly human blood stream, he does just that.

            A few days later, Angel's fever is down, and Fred deems him well enough to venture outside the hotel.  "Now, if you have any problems, you just call me," she tells him, anxious as a new mother.  "Don't forget, I've programmed all our numbers into your new phone, and we're just a call away if you need anything…"  "Fred," he tells her gently, squeezing her small hands with his big ones, "I've been around a long time.  Just because I breath now doesn't mean I can't still handle myself.  It's just lunch with Willow and Giles.  Don't worry, okay?"  He kisses her briefly on the forehead and walks out into the sunshiney Los Angeles day.

            The Ivy is not the first choice for Angel, but apparently Giles has an old friend who cooks there, so it's to the Ivy they go.  Angel arrives a few minutes late; slightly breathless and flushed from the sun.

            "Angel!  You're so red!  Are you alright?"  Willow asks, she and Giles standing as he sprints to the table.  "Yes.  Just a little out of breath.  I wanted to walk," he replies sheepishly.  "You walked the five miles here?  From the hotel?  With a fever?"  Giles asks him incredulously.  "My fever's down.  I honestly got sidetracked just watching the…everything."

            Willow grins at him, tucking a long strand of copper hair behind her ear.  "Well, you can't ever exercise too much, I guess.  So, Giles, what's good here?"

            After a very large meal and dessert to boot, the three old friends sit back contentedly in their chairs.

            "So, Angel, tell me.  Do you have any plans for the future?"  Giles asks, pulling no punches.  Of course he wouldn't.

            "Honestly, I hadn't thought beyond keeping the agency open for a while," Angel replies.  "We are still getting walk in clients, even though my active connection to the Powers is…gone," he says, a slight pinching of his eyes the only clue how much that statement bothers him, "but I guess with the End of Days having come and gone, I really don't need a connection."  He frowns at this, only just now realizing the implications of this proclamation.  Hmm.  What _was_ he going to do?

_Question is, what do you want?_

            The memory of his friend and his query keeps coming back to Angel, and he tries to shake it off like a wet dog.  Yet looking into the faces of her friends, he is struck by the urge to _tell them, just talk to them._  

            "Angel?  What is it?"   Willow asks.  

            "Will, have you…er…um…have you talked to…uh…Buffy recently?"

            Surprisingly enough, Willow smiles at this.

            "I was wondering when you'd ask about her."

            They sit outside at a local Coffee Bean down the street from the Ivy, having carried their long conversation there.  Angel slugs down a cup of burning hot daily roast, and comprehends too late that his human tongue and throat can't deal with temperatures they way they could when he was a vampire.

            "God!  Hot!  Hot!"  he spits out, trying not to spray Willow with the liquid.  She hides a laugh behind one hand, and hands him a few napkins with the other.

            "You okay?  Good thing Giles left already, or he'd never let you hear the end of that one," she ribs him good naturedly.  He frowns at her, trying to seem hurt by her reaction, then sends a blinding smile her way as she finally cracks up.  They laugh together at his clumsiness.  He's really glad she's here.

            "So, where were we?" she asks.  "Oh, yeah.  Buffy."  He is all seriousness now, focusing his attention on her, ignoring the beautiful and skinny L.A. inhabitants that pass by them, oh so oblivious to the little redhead and the large slender man who had saved their collective asses a few weeks previously.

            Willow sighs, and runs a hand through her long hair.  "Weeeellll, Angel, I wish I had really good news for you.  Buffy never did have an easy life.  You sure you don't want to know what Xander's up to?" she inquires, trying to change the subject.  He's not going for it.  "Maybe later.  Is she alright?  In some kind of trouble?  Is Dawn…"  "No, no, they're all fine.  Relatively speaking.  Dawn's married, actually.  To a pro baseball player, of all things.  They live in Anaheim, he plays for the Angels.  Oh, that's kind of funny," she giggles, then stops at the look on his face.

            "Anywho, Buffy.  Well, she bounced around different places for a while, Seattle, Cleveland, London, San Fransisco, you know she visited Faith up there for a while, who is still managing to avade the police, although I don't know how…oh, anyway.  I think since Buffy's not the chosen one anymore, well not the only chosen one, she's been kind of, directionless for a while.  Had various jobs, she was a school counselor again, worked in small bookstore, taught at the Y.."  Angel snorts at this.  "She taught.  At the Y?  What?  Slayer tactics 101?"  "Actually, she's gotten her black belt in Karate and Judo.  So she taught that," Willow tells him, defending her friend's reputation.

            He's duly impressed.  "I'm surprised she followed through on something like that.  It's not like her to finish anything, well, structured."  "Yes, structure was never one of her strong points," Willow states, "but she's grown up a lot.  You'd like her, I think."

            _I'd see you if I were blind._

            "Speaking of," he blurts, then softens his voice, "have you told her anything?  About me, I mean."

            "No, Angel.  I haven't.  I figured that should be your decision," the redhead tells him.  "Have you thought about what you want to say to her?"

            He struggles with his thoughts, visibly shaken and confused.  Willow doesn't envy him his pain, and thinks again in wonder how two of her closest friends could love each other so much, yet have stayed away from each other for so long.

            He finally says in a tiny voice, "Does she still…have feelings for me?"

            Willow is touched by his hesitance.  "I haven't talked about you with her in a long time, Angel.  Yet when I told her a few weeks ago we were coming to help you, she did…react.  More so than I've seen her react to anything in a long while.  She's always loved you.  I don't think she'll ever stop.  But I don't honestly know what she wants these days.  You'll have to ask her yourself."

            "Where is she, exactly?"

            The small blonde woman stands in the lobby of the very large, and very apparently empty hotel lobby.  She sets her small travel bag down, and walks to the front desk.

            "Hello?"

            Her voice echoes into the cavernous depths of the first floor.  No response.

            Suddenly a loud clacking of heels reaches her ears.  A skinny dark haired woman runs down the stairs, shouts a greeting.  "Hey, Buffy!  It is Buffy, isn't it?  Boy, it's great to see you!  What are doing in L.A.?  Angel will be soooo glad to see you!  Especially with the changes, you know.  He's doing much better.  Fever's all gone.  And with the newly sensitive skin, I thought he would have to get as burned as a lobster to be convinced to wear sunscreen…"

            Buffy just stares at the woman, Fred, she remembers.  What changes?  Sunscreen?  "Where is he, Fred?"

            "Oh, he's out with Willow.  He and Giles and her had lunch together.  I think they went to have coffee or something…"  Buffy interrupts her diatribe, grabbing the lithe woman by the shoulders.  "Having coffee?  During the day?  When the sun is up?  Are they sitting inside?"

            Fred stares in shock at Buffy, realization dawning on her face.  "Oh my goodness, you don't know.  He didn't tell you…"

            "Tell me WHAT, Fred?"

            Willow and Angel enter the hotel, Willow finishing some sort of lame joke.  "…no, I'm a frayed knot," she tells Angel, and he guffaws politely.  Suddenly Fred flys into view from nowhere.  

            "AngelI'mreallysorryIdidn'tknowyoudid'nttellherandnowshe'shereand reallymadshe'supinyourroomanddidyouwantmetoleavecauseIcan…"

            "Fred.  Slow down.  What are you talking about?  Who's here?  Who's mad?"  As he says this, Angel has a sinking suspicion about whom Fred is speaking.  He whips his head around the lobby, noticing a small black duffle on the couch, monogrammed.  BAS.  Oh, no.

            Willow glances at Angel, whose face has turned remarkably pale, despite his slight sunburn.  "Go see her, Angel."

            He nods.  "I will."  He trudges up the stairs, so nervous he could possibly throw up, or faint.  The new sensations are weird, if intoxicating.

            As Willow and Fred watch him go, the redhead whispers to herself.  "Go easy on him, Buffy.  He loves you so."

He stands before his own suite, unsure as to whether he should knock or just go in.  Takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge.  Pushes open the door.

She's standing with her back to him, staring out the picture window at the slowly setting sun.  Her hair's a little darker, a little shorter.  But the rest hasn't changed much at all.  His heart leaps in his chest, and he feels that electric pull on all his senses that he hasn't felt in over a decade.  _Too long, my love._

He steps up behind her, close enough to rest his chin on her head.  He almost does this out of habit, then decides wisely not to.  She doesn't turn around.

"Hey."  He says softly, afraid if he speaks too loudly she will vanish in a puff of smoke.  "I'm really glad you're here."

"I'm not sure I am," she finally says.  His heart shatters in two at the cold sound in her voice.

"Buffy, I was actually going to try and get in touch with you today," he says, desperately searching for something to say to sway her angry mood.  "I was just speaking with Willow about your wherabouts…"

"Were you going to tell me?"  She spits furiously out at him, turning to face him at last.  He is shocked to see the lines in her face, _not a teenager anymore, but oh, God, she's still so beautiful..  _Her hazel eyes still have that same spark, her lips still a rosy pink.  _She never did need any makeup, _he thinks crazily.

            "I…was trying to think of the right way to do it, Buffy.  It's not an easy thing to take in," he says heatedly, a little miffed himself.  "It's not like I was trying to think of ways to avoid you.  All I thought of was you.  The minute this happened, every minute since then.  You and I haven't exactly been in touch lately."

            Her expression softens.  "I know, I know.  But it's not like you've tried," she counters, exaperation showing plainly on her face.  "I've been around, Angel.  You could have found me."

            Now it's his turn to walk away.  "Buffy, considering the last time I saw you, you sent me away, I really didn't feel welcome to look for you," he spouts, his anger building rapidly.  _Danger, Will Robinson!  _

"That was for your own good!  I couldn't take the chance that I would lose you.  Not again.  I really could have failed that time, too, Angel.  I really did need you to run the second front.  And even though it turned out the right way, I'm totally sure that I made the right decision.  And here you are now.  Human… Jesus!" she suddenly yells at him, silent tears beginning their inevitable slide toward her nose.  His own eyes begin to feel hot at the expression on her face.  _Don't cry in front of her.  Don't.  Do.  It.  _

She wraps her arms around her chest, that defensive position Angel has seen so many times before.  His reaction is automatic, and ages old.  He crosses to her, and enfolds her in his arms before she screams at him or bolts from the room.

She tenses immediately.  He wraps her tighter, whispers small comfort words into her hair, his black leather jacket enveloping them like a blanket.  _Oh, God.  She still smells the same, vanilla and sweat.  It's like coming home, finally._

She starts to relax, little by little.  Unfolds her own arms and places them tentatively on his hips.  He shudders at her touch, so long denied.  She looks up at him, forcing his head away from the crown of her hair.

She places a small hand over the left side of chest.

"Buffy," he starts.  

"Shhhhh," she tells him.  "Just let me listen."

They stand together in his room, the rays of the sun bathing them in reddish light.  

Thump thump, thump thump.

A small smile lights on her face, and she rests her ear against his chest, taking his hand in hers.  

"That's a good sound," she pronounces finally, tears in her voice as well as the ones now soaking his shirt front.  He kisses the top of her head.  

"Yeah," he says hoarsely, moved beyond weeping now.  

They don't move, leaning into one other, arms now locked around each other, afraid to let go.  She finally sighs, pulls away slightly, looks up at him.

"Angel?  What do we do now?"

He hesitates, looks down into the eyes of his soul mate, the one woman in 250 plus years that he has loved.  "What do want to do, love?"

She touches her hand to his cheek, and slowly traces the lines of his face, the angles of his cheekbones, his full lips.  He closes his eyes, relishing in the contact.  

"Angel.  Look at me," she commands, and ever her slave, he obeys.

She pulls his face to hers, and their lips meet.  Finally.  After what feels like a millenia to him.   Shyly at first, they kiss like schoolchildren.  Then, not.  

She tangles her hands in his hair, and he grabs her roughly by the backside, pulling her as tightly to him as he can.  

Kissing her as a vampire was one thing.  Kissing her with human senses, that's a whole 'nother ball game. 

 _OHMYGOD._

He begins to shake almost uncontrollably.  Can't get close enough to her.  They walk backward toward his bed, and fall roughly onto it together.  He pulls away from her momentarily, chest heaving, his newly active lungs trying to keep up with his heavy breathing.  She smiles lazily at him, and by god, a fire is suddenly in him that only she can quench.  

She is abruptly serious, all humor fled from them both through the open window.  "Angel, I…it's been so long," she tells him, "is this really happening?"

He touches her brows, her cheeks, her long eyelashes.  "Is this what you want, Buffy?  What you really want?  Because if we go any farther, I don't think I could stop," he tells her frankly.  "I've thought about this every day since we parted.  Hell, I've thought about you every day since we met.

"Here's this little scrap of a girl, and she's so strong, and so beautiful.  And she doesn't even know it.  She doesn't know her own power, and her own magnificence.  She's the one thing in my life that holds meaning.  I can be a better person because of her, because of you, Buffy," he whispers to her, and a few tears trickle out the sides of her eyes.  He wipes them tenderly away with the pad of his thumb.  "Now I finally have this reward, and I couldn't understand why I still felt so lost.  My heart was beating, my blood was flowing in my veins, and I still felt dead inside.  And I finally realized why.  You weren't here with me to share it.  My life, my human life, means nothing to me if you're not in it.  I would give it up, end it all, if I knew you wouldn't be here.  I'm so sorry, love.  I should have told you right away.  But, Buffy, it's been an enternity since we…I wasn't sure…do you still want me?"  He's too ashamed to meet her eyes.

She stares at him, stupified.  A small giggle escapes her lips, which rapidly becomes a full blown chortle.  He rolls away, hurt by her response.  

"Angel, you are so dense," she tells him, still rolling with laughter.  He keeps his back to her, afraid that this is it, this is the one time she'll actually leave.

She leans her head on his broad back, kisses the back of his neck.  He twists around, surprised.  

"Do you know what I have been doing for the past, oh, twelve years or so?"  He shakes his head, perplexed by this line of thought.  "I wandered from town to town, not sure what my future should be.  I had some ideas," she continues, "but never really followed through on them.  There was always something missing.  Some puzzle piece that just didn't seem to be there.  Like, a 'chinno without the mocha.  And you know what?  It's taken me a zillion years and a zillion possible futures to understand that none of it, not the traveling, not the jobs, not the experience, meant anything to me.  It's you.  You were that missing piece.  And it didn't hit me til Willow told me about the stuff she was helping you with.  And I would have been here, I would have, but I wasn't sure, either…" she trails off.  

Her words are like balm to a burn.  His soul quakes with joy at her simple expression of love.  

He touches his lips to hers gently, then rests his forehead against hers.  "Don't ever doubt, not for a second, that I love you, Buffy.  I've always loved you.  I always will."

She sighs happily against him, blissful feelings zinging around her body like a sweet soul-buzz.  

They pull apart finally, and she takes his hands.  Kisses them, then puts them to her own waist.  

"Buffy, what…" he stammers, an actual blush creeping up his neck.

"Shhh.  I've waited a long time for this," she tells him.  She gently tugs his sweater over his head, and turns his torso with her hands away from her once again.  

Yep.  It's still there.  The gryphon tattoo.  A remenant of a time now passed.  

 She kisses it soothingly, runs her hand over it lightly.  A shiver runs through him, and she wraps her arms around his chest, pressing herself against his back.  She stays there awhile, just enjoying the feel of his bare back up against her.  He turns, and nuzzles her neck, laying her back against the soft sheets.  Looks in her eyes a final time before saying what's been on his mind for ages.

"Stay with me?"

She beams up at him, the love in her eyes a shining flame that burns itself into his memory forever.

"Always."


End file.
